Holy Crap, There Was Just A Huge Clap of Thunder Right Outside My Window
Headbutteth.
Thy time has cometh, ladies and chaps and people of unbeknowst denominations. Sitteth down upon thyest rumps, whilst I spin to ye the second part of our tale. Whenth we last left Lord Jeremy the Striker and Sir Richard the Reader, thine had justeth slayed the Viking horde of Landover, therebyeth paving the way for the Packers of Green Bay to taketh the NFC Central. However, our heroes hath realized the Viking horde was nothing more than the cleverest of clever ruses. Indeed, our heroes were far off course, and thine journey had justeth begunth.
Our heroes consulted thine map, which, for some good fortune blessed upon it before thy had lefteth by Mariel Hemingway, alerted them to their lostnessness. Thanking Mariel, our heroes retreated upon their tracks, slaying the Hound of Eight O'Clock Coffee (which was sleeping when thine lasteth past), foiling again thy Wizard of Very Cruel (Yet Awesome) Tricks, and walkething past the Stump of Nothingness.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Lord Jeremy the Coffeehoundslayer and Sir Richard the Stumpwalkerbyer beat the trail to the Field of Fed-Ex. Thy path was long, thy path was hard, and there waseth many trials to endure. But at last, eureka! Our heroes came upon a Checkers, an oasis in the middle of an urban blight. Erected some timeth before by its feudal lord Chubby, thine Checkers had hostedeth many a great warrior making thy same pilgrimmage as our heroes: Duke Abbington the Flashy, Sir Arrowbottom the Slightly Pale, Archbishop Louie Louie, and Prince. Our heroes claimedeth this Checkers as thine own, and there was much rejoicing round the land.
However, our heroes still had some distance to go before conquering the Field of Fed-Ex. Off again they set, toward the Hill of Lament. Known round the land, the Hill of Lament tortured those whost tried to climbeth it without the aid of motorized assistance. Undaunted, however, our heroes began the trek.
A third of the way up the Hill of Lament, they decided it was a wench.
Our heroes foundeth two small children, gaveth them each a stegosaurus, and "borrowed" thine bikes. Success! The Hill of Lament was conquered, and Lord Jeremy the Briber and Sir Richard the Shinkicker hath acquired means of transportation.
Eight minutes later, our heroes were giveneth citations by "La Policia" for an unregistered bicycle chain. Oh, La Policia, you will incur our heroes' wrath someday! Alas, our heroes were again vehicle-less, and significantly poorer than before. However, thine hath closed in upon thy goal, the Field of Fed-Ex. What riches await them at thine destination? How much fame and adulation willst our heroes endure? How many women will throw themselves against thine heroes, fanning them with leafs of the giant grape variety and feeding them to thine hearts content?
You shall find out, ladies and chaps and those of an unbeknownst denomination, next time.
K byeth.
Thy time has cometh, ladies and chaps and people of unbeknowst denominations. Sitteth down upon thyest rumps, whilst I spin to ye the second part of our tale. Whenth we last left Lord Jeremy the Striker and Sir Richard the Reader, thine had justeth slayed the Viking horde of Landover, therebyeth paving the way for the Packers of Green Bay to taketh the NFC Central. However, our heroes hath realized the Viking horde was nothing more than the cleverest of clever ruses. Indeed, our heroes were far off course, and thine journey had justeth begunth.
Our heroes consulted thine map, which, for some good fortune blessed upon it before thy had lefteth by Mariel Hemingway, alerted them to their lostnessness. Thanking Mariel, our heroes retreated upon their tracks, slaying the Hound of Eight O'Clock Coffee (which was sleeping when thine lasteth past), foiling again thy Wizard of Very Cruel (Yet Awesome) Tricks, and walkething past the Stump of Nothingness.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Lord Jeremy the Coffeehoundslayer and Sir Richard the Stumpwalkerbyer beat the trail to the Field of Fed-Ex. Thy path was long, thy path was hard, and there waseth many trials to endure. But at last, eureka! Our heroes came upon a Checkers, an oasis in the middle of an urban blight. Erected some timeth before by its feudal lord Chubby, thine Checkers had hostedeth many a great warrior making thy same pilgrimmage as our heroes: Duke Abbington the Flashy, Sir Arrowbottom the Slightly Pale, Archbishop Louie Louie, and Prince. Our heroes claimedeth this Checkers as thine own, and there was much rejoicing round the land.
However, our heroes still had some distance to go before conquering the Field of Fed-Ex. Off again they set, toward the Hill of Lament. Known round the land, the Hill of Lament tortured those whost tried to climbeth it without the aid of motorized assistance. Undaunted, however, our heroes began the trek.
A third of the way up the Hill of Lament, they decided it was a wench.
Our heroes foundeth two small children, gaveth them each a stegosaurus, and "borrowed" thine bikes. Success! The Hill of Lament was conquered, and Lord Jeremy the Briber and Sir Richard the Shinkicker hath acquired means of transportation.
Eight minutes later, our heroes were giveneth citations by "La Policia" for an unregistered bicycle chain. Oh, La Policia, you will incur our heroes' wrath someday! Alas, our heroes were again vehicle-less, and significantly poorer than before. However, thine hath closed in upon thy goal, the Field of Fed-Ex. What riches await them at thine destination? How much fame and adulation willst our heroes endure? How many women will throw themselves against thine heroes, fanning them with leafs of the giant grape variety and feeding them to thine hearts content?
You shall find out, ladies and chaps and those of an unbeknownst denomination, next time.
K byeth.
posted by Rich @ 12:54 PM
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